Truth or Dare

Chapter 4: Chastisement

Professor Vector passed by Hermione's desk, smiling at her favorite and most studious pupil. The tall woman slowly seeding as her youth continually stripped from her body loved dedicated students. There were few in her classes who could listen to one of her lectures and absorb precise formulas, then complete the problems and essays the night after assignment. Hermione did just that and more. If she gave her one problem, Hermione would work it three different ways, then triple check her work. Essays were always turned in longer than originally suggested.

So one can imagine Vector's surprise when she received a requirement-length essay from his star pupil.

Professor Vector perused the essay, gave Hermione a more than disappointed look, then continued her harvest.

At the end of class, Vector called Hermione to her desk.

"Is everything all right, Miss Granger?" Vector asked, concerned. "I must admit that I had grown to expect the extraordinary from you, which might be my mistake. Maybe you had too much on your plate last night and had to finish the essay as quickly as possible; maybe you had a family or a friendship crisis; these things happen. I'm just wondering if you need to talk about something."

Hermione felt like laughing and crying. What was she supposed to say? Oh, Professor, I really need your help. I'm bound to shagging Professor Snape. I was trying to ignore the fact while writing the essay. Can you understand that I was a little too stressed to overachieve?

"No, Professor Vector, nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."

~888~

In the middle of Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall stopped by Hermione's desk to observe her progress at changing Ron into Harry.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows incredulously.

Ron's hair was streaked with black, but rather than Harry's thin straight nose, Hermione had succeeded in growing Snape's overlarge nose onto Ron's face. Ron had shrunk to Harry's height, but no matter how hard Hermione focused, the nose refused to shrink.

Professor McGonagall tsked sharply and waved her wand, restoring Ron's own features to their proper proportions.

"Really, Miss Granger, you showed uncharacteristic carelessness in the maneuvering of that wand! I suggest you practice extra-hard tonight on the wand-movement for the charm. I expected better of you!"

~888~

Professor Sprout was getting warmed up in her lesson and decided at that moment to ask, "Can anyone tell me what is so extraordinary about a mature Whomping Willow?"

Everyone, even Neville, not knowing the answer, looked at Hermione, expecting her hand to be waving enthusiastically.

Hermione looked at the floor, her hands firmly behind her back.

~888~

In Professor Flitwick's class, the diminutive Charms teacher dropped a letter sealed by the Headmaster onto Hermione's desk.

It read:

Dear Miss Granger,

On behalf of all your professors, we require your presence in the teachers' lounge on the 24th of November at 9:00 am.

Professor Albus Dumbledore

Harry looked over her shoulder at the note, then whispered in her ear, "Perhaps I'm not the right one to tell you this, but... well, maybe you should get it over with."

Hermione drew away in horror.

"I'm serious," Harry said in a normal tone. "You're falling apart. Even Dean's noticed, and he doesn't pay attention to much outside sports or art."

"And you think my problem will go away if I do?" Hermione snapped.

Harry withdrew angrily. "It was just a suggestion. The problem isn't going away by itself, and you're going to need all the help you can get. You don't have to bite my head off!"

Hermione instantly felt a swift pang of guilt. But how could he possibly understand? Sure, he had his own weighty problems, but none of them were the like of her own, and she forced herself to ignore her conscience. She would have to fight this battle without the help of the two best friends, despite the fact they had gotten her into the mess in the first place.

~888~

Hermione stood in front of the staff room door, struck by how menacing pinewood could be and how hard her heart was beating and how the floor needed to be cleaned and how she was going to answer their questions, especially if Snape was there.

She considered ignoring the summons and hiding in one of the dormitory closets. As a great gaping feeling in her stomach increased with the prospect of inquisition, Hermione favored that decision more and more. But as she began to back away, the staff room door opened, and Professor McGonagall silently beckoned her in.

Tremulously, Hermione slipped through the door, avoiding her Professor's eyes.

"Please, sit down, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, breaking the complete silence and gesturing to a comfortable-looking armchair. Hermione obeyed.

"Miss Granger, we aren't going to bite," Professor Dumbledore said gently. "We just want to clear up a few things."

Hermione lent him her eyes and thought she saw a glint of knowledge behind Professor Dumbledore's glasses. But her hopes were dashed when that light disappeared, transforming into one of confused concern.

Professor Dumbledore took a parchment out of his robes and glanced at the information it showed.

"Miss Granger, your teachers are dreadfully concerned. It seems your grades have slipped a whole three points. While such a minute change would be overlooked in any other student, I'm afraid that with something like this from you, someone who has maintained her marks, such decline is indicative of some trouble. Do you find your load a burden? You never have before--in fact, you've sought to augment it--but even someone as intelligent as you reaches her limit. Tell me, my dear, is your decline a result of a work overload?"

Hermione shook her head no.

Professor Dumbledore's brows furrowed, but he continued.

"I have numerous reports here of regular sickness, at approximately 10:00 am, 1:30 pm, 3:00 pm, and 5:00 pm. Have you been to see Madam Pomfrey about this condition? You're getting incredibly thin."

Hermione shook her head no.

"Why not?"

Hermione shrugged, guiltily aware of her rudeness.

Professor Dumbledore sighed, rolling up the parchment and putting it to the side.

"Hermione, you have to understand that unless you tell us the problem, we cannot help you."

"There's always Veritaserum," said Snape snidely from the back. Hermione was glad she could not see him.

Dumbledore spared Snape a sharp glance.

"But to be serious," Snape said in a dangerous, silky voice, pushing past some of the professors to the front, "I have not noticed any academic change in Potions, so I see no reason to be here myself."

Professor McGonagall looked at Snape incredulously. "You've haven't noticed any change?"

Snape snorted. "What hasn't? I am merely saying it is only a selective and likely temporary setback." Snape turned to Hermione, making her flinch.

"First, Miss Granger, due to the regularity of your sickness, I feel compelled to ask you whether you are pregnant."

Hermione's eyes widened at the ironic insinuation. The accusation caused many of the professors to cry out indignantly, and Professor McGonagall said, "Now really, Severus!"

Snape held up his hands and the protests quieted.

"I want a direct answer. Well, Miss Granger?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Hermione felt like sinking into the floor. "No," she whispered.

Snape nodded. "Then I have one more question. A few weeks ago," he explained to the other professors, "Mr. Finnegan suffered a mishap with his Love Potion and his chemical-induced affections were directioned at the unfortunate Miss Granger. Could your distress be a precipitate of this error?"

Hermione was startled that Snape had even noticed her discomfort of the subject in his classes after that particular day. But she still had to answer, "No."

Snape nodded and bowed to the Headmaster. "No further questions, your honor. Am I free to return to my work?"

With a ghost of a smile on Dumbledore's face, the Headmaster assented, and Snape stalked out of the room, his voluminous robes billowing behind him.

"It's a wonder someone as melodramatic as he doesn't get his robes caught in the door," Dumbledore muttered to himself, shaking his head with clear amusement. His expression grew grave as he returned his attention to Hermione.

"Hermione, you have to understand that our goal is not just to educate students, but to protect them to the best of our ability. But you have to help us. We realize that many believe their case unique and unable to be altered, but you could be throwing away valuable aid by anticipating our impotence."

Hermione moistened her lips, then said, her voice unwavering, "There is nothing you can help me with. I am fine. I'm just a little stressed."

"Are you certain?" Professor Dumbledore said, emphasizing each word.

Hermione nodded, "Yes, Professor."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair as though she had let him down in some say. "You are free to go," he said quietly, removing his glasses and polishing them on his sleeve.

Hermione stood, staring at the emotionless, unfamiliar eyes of her professors. Then she made a swift exit.

The last thing she heard was Professor Flitwick leaning toward Professor Sprout and whispering loudly, "I think it's unanimous that she's not telling us something."

Professor Sprout replied, "If you ask me, it's a boy problem. Severus is usually right about these things."

Hermione shut the door.

~888~

"You know, curling up under a library table is an early sign of insanity," Blaise said, crouching down and setting her book bag beside her.

Hermione turned away, giving Blaise her back.

"Just because I wear green and silver doesn't mean you can't talk to me a little. I have plenty of blue friends, and even one yellow friend. Besides, I came here to make arrangements for my stay with you over holidays. It was your Dare, after all." Blaise's tone grew uncharacteristically bitter.

Hermione did not say anything, but the tension around her shoulders lessened a bit. Blaise threw her book bag under the table and crawled next to Hermione.

"Do you do this routinely?" Blaise asked. "A bit cozy, but certainly a good place for privacy. Though the odd looks people give you have to be a drawback. What am I going to tell my parents?"

"Make up something," Hermione muttered sullenly. "Owls come to my house everyday. It's not like your parents would notice the difference. They can't tell where the owls go."

"Still sulking over your Dare?"

Hermione nodded.

Blaise crossed her legs and faced Hermione, her eyes glinting. "You know, I didn't want to be a part of the Truth or Dare game. It was Draco and Pansy's idea, and I overheard them researching it. It sounded vaguely interesting, and they needed a third person--to account for you--but I normally don't get involved in all that House rivalry. Takes far too much time. If Draco put an eighth of the energy he puts into plotting against Potter into some real ambition, he'd be famous before he left Hogwarts. Anyway, they... 'persuaded' me to join them. And believe me, I've paid Pansy back, but I think Draco's Dare is punishment enough for anybody. So I'm just waiting now. It's bothering him as much as it's bothering you."

"I didn't want to be a part of it, either," said Hermione. "I just wanted to support Harry and Ron. I knew it'd get us into trouble, but it turns out I received the worst repercussions for their stupidity."

Blaise chuckled grimly. "I don't disagree. But--I'm sure it won't help or make you feel better -- Snape... he's really okay. It's just with you Gryffindors; it doesn't work with the old rivalry. And he really has been looking a bit peaky, even for him."

"Shut up!" screamed Hermione suddenly, flinging out an arm and hitting Blaise in the face. She calmed down immediately after but more than a spark of fury flitted in her eyes. "You just don't get it, do you? I have to seduce this man. Not just let him have his way with me while I just lie there under him, which would be more than horrible itself. I have to do everything myself and make him want me. And why the hell would he want me in the first place?"

Blaise was silent for a moment, then said, "All very good questions, but none of them apply to my original purpose for being here."

Hermione gave an impatient sigh and snapped. "Just... I don't care how you do it, just be in a compartment on the train next week. I'll owl Mum and Dad that you're coming. I'll say you're having severe relationship problems at home and at school or something, and they'll lap it up and baby you when you come. Now deal with your own problems and leave me to mine!"

She crawled out and began stalking away when Blaise called after her, "You know, the last thing you need right now is another Slytherin enemy!"

Hermione decided to ignore the comment and continued to stalk all the way to Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Ron were waiting for her at the Fat Lady.

Ron looked at Harry for a cue, then began.

"We've discussed it, Hermione, and we've decided that even if you treat us like dirt, we're going to try and help you and support you through this."

"Crestomanci," Hermione murmured to the Fat Lady, then climbed through the portrait hole.

" 'Cause we got you into this," Harry continued, "and you've bailed us out of so many adventures."

"The troll," said Ron.

"Grawp," chimed Harry.

"The Devil's Snare."

"The Summoning Charm."

"Dumbledore's Army."

"Loads of stuff I couldn't begin to say, and we're bugging you until you give us some sort of answer."

Hermione spun around, opened her mouth, and screamed, her eyes screwed shut. Everyone in the common room dropped what they were doing and stared at her. None of them had ever seen Hermione so out of control, so crazy....

Then her screams became gentler, with larger pauses between them. Her hands buried themselves into her hair, literally pulling at the roots, then covering her ears as though to ward off some high-pitched sound--perhaps herself.

Professor McGonagall rushed in, her hair more untidy than usual.

"Good heavens, who's being murdered?" she cried. Then she saw Hermione, and her lips pursed disapprovingly. "Miss Granger, please, I must ask you to cease that unseemly noise."

"Professor," said a rather frazzled Ron, "I think she may be having a nervous breakdown?"

"Oh, nonsense, Ravenclaw has them all the time. Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall yelled, slapping Hermione smartly across the face. Hermione's screams dissolved into tears, and she fell to the floor, weeping, barely drawing in breath.

Professor McGonagall clucked, then deputized Harry into taking her to the infirmary.

"No!" Hermione wailed. "Don't take me to him! He'll eat me! He'll eat me!"

"Honestly," Lavender whispered to Parvati, "she's beginning to sound like Loony Lovegood."

~888~

Hermione opened her eyes, staring at the admonishing face of Madam Pomfrey.

"Really, Miss Granger," she said primly as she sat Hermione up and fluffed her pillows, "with stress levels that high, I'm surprised you didn't work yourself into a catatonic state. Here, drink this." Madam Pomfrey thrust a vial into Hermione's hands. "It'll help you relax a little more. Now, I want you to stay here for another night, and tomorrow I'll allow visitors, but you really need rest. Here." She thrust a piece of parchment into Hermione's hand. "Whenever you find yourself even the littlest bit anxious or stressed or upset, practice these relaxation techniques. I don't want you constantly taking potions; it can become addictive. Now, bedrest," Madam Pomfrey concluded, tucking Hermione further into the sheets and quilts.

Professor McGonagall walked in.

"Not now, Minerva, wait until tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey said, putting a hand on Professor McGonagall's shoulder.

"It'll be quick, Poppy," Professor McGonagall replied. She looked at Hermione and said gently, "I might have been more sympathetic if you had told us your problem. Until them, I will be little inclined to sympathize. Good day, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked out a window and said nothing, but another tear trickled down her cheek.